“One copper, then.”
The whorehouse owner smiled. “You drive a hard bargain.” He considered. “I tell you what. I'll feed and board her, and she works in the back room without pay.”
“Done.”
The man thrust out a grimy hand. “I'm Devar.”
Blade recoiled, shaking his head. “It’s against my religion to touch something that dirty.”
Devar withdrew his hand with a scowl, and Lilu held her breath. The innkeeper smiled and shook his head. “That smart mouth of yours will get you into trouble, lad. Lucky for you I'm a tolerant man.”
“Show me where she'll work.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Lilu.”
Devar nodded, and Lilu followed as he led the way through a curtain at the back of the taproom, into a short, squalid corridor similar to the one in her old whorehouse. Six curtained doors led off it, and Devar thrust the closest aside to reveal a bare cubical with a straw mattress in it. Blade glanced in and nodded, his expression shuttered. Back in the common room, he sipped the wine and grimaced, handing it to Lilu.
“Good luck.”
Lilu sensed his wish to quit the shoddy inn. She did not blame him, and found that she did not want him to stay in the tawdry place. When the front door closed behind him, she turned to the innkeeper, who leered, revealing brown teeth.
“Come on, lass, let's see how hard you'll work for your kitchen scraps.” He gestured towards the curtained doorway that led to the back rooms.
Lilu pulled a face and drained the wine before following him.
Chapter Six
Lilu sat behind the curtain and listened to the men in the taproom shout, sing and banter. It was the end of the tenday, and she had been busy earlier. Now her customers were sated and enjoying the wine and fondling the other harlots. Their work had all but dried up since Lilu's arrival, and they spat at and slapped her often. She endured it for Blade's sake, but she hoped that she would learn something soon. Two tendays had passed, and her birthing time drew near.
A loud conversation caught her attention, and she strained to hear it, catching snatches.
“...We beat him good, that's fer sure... Pissed on 'im too...”
“Jobal said 'e were dead... But he's still alive, would you...”
Lilu leant closer to the curtain, her breath catching with excitement. A man guffawed, and she caught more snippets.
“...Benaar's the one who cracked 'im on the...”
“Damned dirty... Like rats, they are... Goin' to have some fun...”
“Go on with yer, Jobal...”
Lilu gasped and jumped up as the curtain to the taproom was thrust aside and a muscular, brown-haired man with a plaited beard entered the corridor. She bolted into her room, and he pushed open the curtain a moment later and swaggered in.
As he was about to leave, she asked, “Are you one of the lads who killed the Dance Master?”
He eyed her, clearly surprised. “We din't kill 'im, but we tried.”
“You must be brave. How many of you were there?”
“A dirty dozen.” He grinned. “Why are ye talkin'? Yer looking for another bedding? I'll send one of t'other lads back to keep yer 'appy if ye like.”
“That's all right, I reckon I've had them all tonight.”
“Too right ye 'ave, but some of 'em's game for seconds.”
“I'm quite tired, actually.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “They'll wake yer up an' no mistake.”
Lilu's heart sank as he left, dreading more work when she was already tired. He was true to his word, however, and within minutes another man came in, this one larger, with a shaven head and garish tattoos on his cheeks.
When he was finished, she asked, “Are you one of the boys who beat the Dance Master too?”
He stared at her. “Hah. Jobal said you was a talker. Aye, I am. We're all 'ere tonight.”
“You're so brave. I'd like to meet them all.”
“You already 'ave.”
“What are their names?”
He scratched his head, looking puzzled. “Well now, there's Gerin, Jonnis, Bertal, Jobal, Petran, Vorn, Teddel, Kento, Thedor, Mathis, Ludor and me.”
“And you are?”
“Benaar. I'm the one who almost brained the bastard.”
“With a rock? How brave of you.”
He eyed her. “You bein' funny?”
“No, no, assassins are dangerous.”
He stepped closer. “He were drunk and alone, an' I jumped 'im from behind. You call that brave?”
“Well, if you put it like that, I guess not.”
“Oh, so now I'm a dirty coward.”
Lilu knew where this was going from years of experience. Benaar was in a mood to beat someone, and looking for an excuse to do it. She knew that a beating now, when she was so close to term, might bring the baby on early.
“I meant no offence,” she said.
“Well you offend me,” he said. “With yer dented face and bloated belly, still rutting like you 'aven't already 'ad enough. And then you want to talk. Things like you shouldn't talk!”
“You're right. I won't, ever again, I swear.”
“An' now you're swearin', an' that's just wrong.” Benaar stepped closer, his expression murderous. “I think yer need some more dents in that ugly mug o' yorn.”
Lilu scrambled away, wishing she could flee, but her pregnancy weighed her down. Benaar grabbed her hair, and she screamed as his fist thudded into her stomach, pain lancing through her. She tried to curl up to protect her baby, but Benaar had other ideas. His next punch cracked into her jaw, sending her sprawling. He kicked her in the belly, and something tore. Warm liquid gushed over her thighs, and she screamed again. The curtain opened and men crowded into the pokey room, Devar amongst them.
The innkeeper protested, but was thrust out, and the men who had tried to kill Blade surrounded her. She tried to memorise their faces or distinguishing marks, but she did not know who was who, even so. Even if she survived to tell Blade, the information would be of little use. Jobal grinned and kicked her, and she groaned as a contraction tore through her.
Blade glanced around when a street urchin came to his side, recognising the boy from Tarbriar Way. The assassin sat in his usual seat at the back of the Hangman's Noose, his new haunt. The boy panted, his eyes wide.
“Dance Master,” he gasped. “The whore...”
“What of her?”
“They're goin' to kill 'er, I reckon.”
Blade straightened, frowning. “Who?”
“I dunno. Ten men, mayhap twelve. They've got 'er cornered in the Winsome Wench and they be kickin' 'er to death.”
The assassin jumped up and loped to the door, thrusting it open with a bang. The curious, puzzled stares of the two assassins who shared his haunt followed him. In the street, his breath steamed in the cold air. He sprinted up the road towards the Winsome Wench, which was half a time-glass' walk away. He had chosen a new haunt that was not too close to it, lest he arouse suspicion, but it was in Trobalon territory and closer than his old one. His boots skidded on the icy cobbles on the corners, and people jumped out of his way with curses and yells.
As he neared his destination, he wondered how he was going to take on a dozen men, some of whom might be armed. Lilu might already be dead. He had no idea how much abuse a pregnant woman could withstand. A street away from the Winsome Wench, he paused to strap on his boot blades. This might be the first time he used them in a real fight, and put his training to the test. The metal soles made his footing even more treacherous, and he almost skidded twice more before he reached the inn's front door and wrenched it open. The whorehouse was unusually quiet and almost empty. He picked up the tension instantly, along with the scent of blood. Devar stood behind the counter, polishing cups with a frown. The assassin banged on the counter to get his attention, and he sauntered over.
“Where's the whore, Lilu?” Blade demanded.
“Ay
e, well now, she started trouble here tonight, indeed she did.”
“Where is she?”
“Probably dead by now.”
“Where?”
Devar leant on the counter. “I threw her out. Silly bitch got the lads all riled up, and she were a hard worker, too. Shame really.”
“Where did you throw her?”
“Out the back. She was making an awful racket. Most of my customers cleared out, thanks to her. The lads too, and they were having a good time before...”
Blade loped through the curtain at the back of the taproom and into the short, dingy corridor, at the end of which was another door. He wrenched it open, and almost fell over the naked woman lying right outside. His boot blades clicked as he stepped over her and crouched, averting his eyes from her exposure and the blood that ran over her thighs. He touched her shoulder, found it warm, and felt for a pulse in her neck. Cursing, he glanced up and down the narrow lane. On the other side of the street at one end of the alley was a livery stable.
Stepping over her again, he re-entered the brothel and went to her room to fetch her tatty dress, returning to drape it over her. He did not want to have to carry her far, and the added weight of the child would make her a heavy burden, but the only other choice was to walk away. If he took her back into the brothel and she screamed, the owner would doubtless throw her out, or try to, which would lead to an unwanted fracas, with possible broken heads and a visit from the Watch.
Blade slid his arms under her, shuddering at the touch of her clammy skin. The stench of blood made his stomach heave, and he turned his head away as he cradled her against his chest and stood up. To his surprise, she was not as heavy as he had expected, or perhaps he was stronger than he had been last time. He walked to the stable, his boot blades skidding on the icy cobbles. In the livery's warm redolence, he found an empty stall and placed her on the straw.
The dress slid off, and he swiftly covered her again, his cheeks growing hot as he glanced around with guilty unease. The assassin's dislike for the situation grew in leaps and bounds, and he longed to abandon her and walk away. Not much disconcerted him more than a naked woman, but an unconscious one in labour in public came top of his list, he discovered. Kneeling beside her, he patted her cheek. Her belly bulged with contractions, and he was fairly sure that she should be awake for the birth. Blood oozed from her nose, her lips were puffy and a swelling closed one eye.
“Gods, Lilu,” he muttered, “I didn't think you could get any uglier. Come on, wake up.”
His persistent patting made her blink and moan, then, to his relief, her eyes opened. She focussed on him, and an expression of desperate joy twisted her battered face. Blade forced what he hoped was a comforting smile, but it must have looked like a grimace of distaste. Alarm blossomed in her eyes, and she grabbed him before he could leap out of reach, clutched his neck and buried her face in his chest. Her grip brought Blade's recoil up short, and his immediate, instinctive yearning to be free of her smelly, sweaty arms made his hands flash up to shove her away, come into contact with sticky flesh and snap back like they were spring loaded.
Blade tried to pull free. “Get off me, Lilu!”
Lilu clung to him, sobbing, then cried out, drawing up her legs as a contraction racked her. The assassin gripped her hands and wrenched them from his neck, scrambling away. She clasped her stomach and groaned, her face twisted with pain. Blade, on the brink of bolting, hesitated, eyeing her. He could not abandon her now. Edging closer, he watched her, staying out of reach.
“That's it,” he murmured, not knowing if he was saying the right thing. “You're doing fine.”
“How would you know, you blithering idiot? How many babies have you birthed?” she gritted.
“You should have thought of that before...” He bit his tongue, averting his eyes as the dress slid off again.
“Blade...” She stretched out a hand. “Help me.”
“How?”
“Hold my hand, you idiot.” She groaned and gasped.
“No. I'll fetch a midwife.”
“Oh, good idea. And I suppose you know where she lives?”
“No. Where does she live?”
Lilu writhed, clutching her belly. “It's too late! Please, just hold my hand.”
“What for?”
“It will help with the pain.”
“You're not going to grab me again?”
“No.” She groaned. “Those bastards tried to beat me to death too...” She gasped and bore down. “I found them. If you want their names, hold my bloody hand!”
Blade sidled closer and offered his hand, only to have it gripped in a bone-crushing hold that made him wince. “Ah! Lilu, that hurts.”
“Not half as much as this hurts, trust me,” she groaned.
“Yes, but I'm not the one in labour, nor did I do anything to cause you pain, so inflicting it on me isn't fair.”
“You're right, but there's no one else here, so you're it.”
“Ah!”
Lilu groaned and gasped, writhing as the contractions grew faster and stronger. Blade shifted, ill at ease and wincing whenever her grip tightened, which was with every contraction. Her skin became dewed with sweat and her cries grew so loud that he picked up her dress to stuff it into her mouth, then thought better of it and tried to pull it over her instead. She flailed at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to... um... keep you warm.”
She opened her eyes to study him. “No you're not. You're all embarrassed because I'm naked. You're such a virgin.”
“I am not!”
“'Course you are.” She groaned, bearing down, and her hand crushed his fingers.
He plucked at it. “Aah! Could you... hold the other hand now? This one's crushed.”
“No, you'll run if I let you go, and I need you to...” She groaned, then relaxed, panting. “...Help when the baby comes.”
“No!”
“Please, Blade. I'm sorry to... put you through this, but...” She strained again, her face reddening, then flopped back. “...There's no one else.”
He glanced around, hunted, yet trapped. “I could have fetched the midwife by now.”
“She lives in the slums. It's miles away, and hard to find. I know you, you wouldn't have...” She groaned and panted. “...Come back.”
Blade shot her a quick glance, his eyes skipping off her nudity, his face heating again. He picked up the dress. “Don't you want to put this on?”
She shot him a disbelieving look. “I'm in the middle of giving birth. I'm not going to put on a damned dress!”
Blade swallowed hard and winced as she gripped his bruised hand again. She cursed and writhed, and the stench of blood grew stronger. His eyes were drawn to something pink and glistening, smeared with blood, that emerged from her crotch. It had a face. A cold wave washed over him, and everything went dark.
Lilu relaxed as most of the pain abated. The worst was over. A soft thud in the straw beside her made her glance at Blade, who was stretched out, his eyes closed. After a moment of stunned disbelief, she giggled, then gasped as another contraction gripped her. The baby slid out, and she sat up and picked him up, wiping the slime off his face with the hem of her dress. He wriggled and raised his fists, then drew his first bubbling breath and wailed. Lilu smiled, stroking the thick black hair that clung to his scalp while she counted fingers and toes.
Lilu wrapped him in her skirt and lay back, holding the infant on her belly. He bawled lustily, but appeared to be unhurt despite the kicks that had thudded into her abdomen less than a time-glass ago. She glanced at Blade, smiling at his peaceful slumber. Here was the Master of the Dance, the deadliest assassin in all of Jondar, unable to stomach the sight of a birth.
Wise women always said that the pain of a birth would kill a man, and she thought that they were right. The baby howled, and she bit through the umbilical cord and placed him on the straw. After burying the afterbirth, she knelt to pull on her dress, which
would make Blade happy when he woke, she mused. She wondered why he had come to the whorehouse. How had he known about her plight? That he had come warmed her heart, and she leant over to kiss his cheek, wiping off the drop of blood that she left on his skin. It came from her nose, and she wiped her face with her skirt, which also wrapped the infant.
Lilu smiled at him. “I shall call you Endellar. Storm Born. Endel for short. There may be no blizzard tonight, but you came into the world in the company of a human storm, and he lies in the straw, senseless from shock.” She giggled and whispered, “He's God Touched.”
Turning to Blade, she hesitated, almost loath to wake him, he was so peaceful. Placing the screaming baby in the straw again, she wriggled closer and stroked the assassin’s cheek. Somehow, he stood above the dross of humanity, pure in spirit and flesh, though stained with hatred and rage. His penchant for cleanliness bordered on fanatical, and she often wondered whence it stemmed. Sighing, she gave his shoulder a little shake. A scraping sound made her glance around. Benaar stood there, staring at her with angry, bloodshot eyes.
“So, the slut has birthed a bastard,” he growled. “You were supposed to die, and your bastard with you.”
Lilu shook Blade harder. “Wake up!”
“Who've you got there?” Benaar enquired. “Another victim? Looks like you rutted 'im to death, poor sod.”
Lilu thumped the assassin. “Wake up! Blade!”
“Blade?” Benaar's eyes widened, then narrowed. “What's 'e doin' 'ere? You two were in cahoots, innit?”
“Stay away from me!” she shouted when he stepped closer.
Lilu fumbled on Blade's belt for one of his daggers, sliding it free of its sheath with a soft, deadly slither. The baby screamed, and Benaar cast him a hard glance.
“I'm going to shut that there brat up, too.”
Lilu brandished the dagger, aware that it was razor sharp. She had seen Blade stropping his weapons for time-glasses to hone them so finely that they could slice through a cloth that was dropped on them. Benaar smiled and took another pace forward. Perhaps he did not realise that Blade was liable to wake at any moment, or at least, she hoped he was. She also hoped that he was a good fighter when not armed with a plank or faggot. Benaar leered. Lilu glanced at the assassin, and, in desperation, pressed the tip of the dagger into his belly. Blade jerked upright with a snort, whipped around and punched her in the side of the head. Lilu fell back, her skull ringing. The assassin scrambled away from her, looking alarmed. He glanced at Benaar, confusion mingling with his alarm.
The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched Page 8
